


I'd take our family over normal any day

by redmyeyes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Big Brother Dean, Blow Jobs, Episode: s01e08 Bugs, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 01, Sibling Incest, and Abandonment Issues, and his never-ending guilt complex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29735586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redmyeyes/pseuds/redmyeyes
Summary: “I’d take our family over normal any day,” Dean said, adamant, waiting for Sam’s agreement, an acknowledgement, anything.Sam just looked at him with something like pity and shook his head.(In which Sam and Dean play at domesticity and it suddenly becomes way too real.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48
Collections: Every Time We Touch: A First-Time Wincest Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merle_p](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/gifts).



> For merle_p. Thank you for encouraging this nonsense, my dear. <3

* * * * *

“Growin’ up in a place like this would freak me out,” Dean said, just testing the waters, casting a glance over at Sam to see how he’d react.

But Sam just looked puzzled, like he really didn’t get it at all. “Why?” he asked.

Dean swept his arm out, indicating all the cookie-cutter houses around them on this perfect, tree-lined street in Suburbia. “C’mon,” he scoffed derisively, “manicured lawns, ‘How was your day, honey?’ – I’d blow my brains out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with ‘normal’,” Sam huffed, like he was actually _offended_.

“I’d take our family over normal any day,” Dean said, adamant, waiting for Sam’s agreement, an acknowledgement, anything.

Sam just looked at him with something like pity and shook his head.

* * *

“Welcome!” the realtor chirped brightly. “I take it you two are interested in becoming homeowners?”

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, raising his eyebrows in silent question. “Well…” he said aloud to the realtor.

“Let me just say,” she interrupted reassuringly, “that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

Dean chuckled. It wasn’t even worth defending for the second time in five minutes. Hadn’t these people ever heard of _siblings_ , for chrissakes? May as well play it up. “Right, well, I’m gonna go talk to Larry.” He turned to Sam, simpering, “Okay, honey?” with a wicked grin, smacking him on the ass as he walked away. He only wished he could’ve seen his face, certain it must’ve been a bitchface of epic proportions.

Ten minutes later, after he’d gotten his tour of this perfect cookie-cutter house, he found Sam upstairs, talking quietly with Larry’s teenaged kid. And wasn’t that just like Sam, Dean thought, adopting every hurt animal, connecting to every lost soul with those damnable puppy eyes and earnest expressions.

He only caught a fragment of conversation – “it gets better,” Sam said – and Dean had to wonder, _does it, Sammy?_

They watched together as Larry pulled his son away roughly and started berating him, and Dean winced at the obvious parallels. He hated having to defend their dad to Sam. He didn’t want to be on _anyone’s_ side, just needed them to get along. For once. If Sam could just _see…_

But Sam wasn’t buying it, and changed the subject quickly back to business.

* * *

“Ooh, hey, pull over here,” Dean said, spotting an open garage in one of the neighborhood’s model homes.

Sam sighed, but complied with the request, pulling into the garage. “We’re gonna squat in an empty house?” he asked.

”It’s too late to talk to anybody else,” Dean said, getting out of the car. “And I wanna try the steam shower. Come on.”

He pulled down the garage door from inside after Baby was safely in, watching as Sam stepped slowly out of the car, reluctance clear on his face.

Dean popped the trunk, rifling through weapons, salt and holy water to dig out their duffels and a couple of sleeping bags. He tossed a bag at Sam, firmly ignoring the look of exasperation Sam tossed back at him.

But anyway, well, Sam wanted normal? Dean could give him one night of normal. Show him how pointless it really was. “Welcome home, honey,” he grinned, ushering him into the house.

He edged past Sam in the hallway, trying to get a look at the living room. “Huh… kinda expected it to be furnished,” he said, dropping his duffel heavily on the floor and stretching out his sore muscles.

“Yeah, Dean, y’know they usually only do that for the model house?” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Probably doesn’t even have the water turned on.”

Dean looked at him aghast. “You shut your mouth. I am having that steam shower. There’s no way they wouldn’t wanna demo that in every single house.” He rubbed his hands briskly, looking around at the empty domestic space. He could make this work. “Oh well, first night in the new house, we can camp out, right, sweetheart?”

“Dean–”

Dean bowled right over his protests. “What’s say we order in some Chinese, huh, darlin’?”

“Dean, will you _just–_ ”

“Find the number and order, will you, hun? I’m gonna go see if I can find the shower. Oh, and see if they’ll deliver some beer!”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the food arrived. “Thought these houses were empty…” the delivery guy said, peering warily inside.

“Yeah, I mean, they _were…_ ” Sammy stammered from the doorway, and Dean rolled his eyes, going to rescue him, as _always_.

“Just moved in,” he said cheerfully, coming up beside Sam and slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Newlyweds. Ain’t got no furniture yet, but that hardly matters to us, does it sugar?” He planted a fat, wet kiss on Sam’s cheek and watched, delighted, as the blush crept over his face. “He’s adorable when he’s embarrassed, isn’t he?” he asked the delivery guy, ruffling Sam’s hair.

The guy looked faintly horrified, which delighted Dean even more. “That’s, uh, that’ll be $18.50. Plus twenty for the beer.”

Dean dug out fifty in crumpled bills and forked it over, taking the proffered bags. “Keep the change, man, thanks for the beer.”

As soon as the door was closed, Sam elbowed him in the side, shoving him away. “What the hell, Dean?” he hissed.

“What?” Dean laughed. “Thought you wanted some domesticity. C’mon, let’s bring this stuff to the kitchen.”

Dean had to grudgingly admit, the kitchen alone was maybe worth the price of admission – enormous and modern, sleek lines of grey granite, a gas stove that looked like it belonged in a professional kitchen, and a giant island and breakfast bar. Their little spread of chinese takeout containers and beer looked almost lost here.

“Whaddaya think, cupcake?” Dean asked with a grin, spreading his arms wide. “Pretty freaking sweet, right?”

“Dean…” Sam tried, face pinched, “will you quit it already with the nicknames?”

“Haven’t even run through the whole gamut yet, Sammy,” Dean protested, cracking open a beer and passing it to Sam before opening one for himself. “Or, should I say, ‘sunshine’? Pet? Darlin’?” he drawled, watching Sam’s face.

“Or, sweetheart…? That’s the one, ain’t it, Sammy? Sweetheart?” he breathed, watching the blush intensify on Sam’s face as he stared furiously down at food containers.

“Knock it off, Dean, I’m serious,” Sam said, clearly struggling to get the blush under control and pull one of his patented bitchfaces.

Dean decided to back off before the kid had an aneurysm or something. “Fine, fine,” he huffed, holding his hands up in self-defence, “just trying to give you ‘normal’.”

“What part of macking on your kid brother is _normal_ , Dean?”

“What–, that’s not–, just a _joke_ , Sammy, jeez,” Dean spluttered, letting out a sigh of relief when Sam finally settled on bitchface version 587, frustration tinged with badly concealed amusement.

“I dunno,” Dean continued, “I thought we could have, you know, a time-out or something. I mean, seriously, can you believe this place? Never woulda imagined we’d end up in a place like this. Or at least, _I_ wouldn’t,” he said, casting a glance at Sam, who was stabbing idly at some kung pao chicken with one chopstick. “Guess you had ‘normal’ all figured out there for a while…”

Sam huffed out a breath. “Dean, you don’t have to say ‘normal’ like it’s a dirty word or something. You could have that too, you know. We both could.”

“Separately,” Dean laughed bitterly. “Not very ‘normal’ for grown brothers to be living together, is it. Don’t know why you’re so intent on escaping from this family, Sammy.”

“What? That’s not… it’s not even _about_ that, Dean,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“Whatever,” Dean said, taking a swig of beer. “Y’know, I heard you talking to that kid back there, Matt? It ‘gets better’, huh, Sammy? What, when you can take off for good?” His good mood was rapidly fading, but he couldn’t seem to reign back the resentment that was suddenly springing up from nowhere.

Sam shrugged. “Just, uh... maybe I know what the kid’s goin’ through, that’s all.” He laughed then, shaking his head. “I mean, christ, talk about ‘normal’. Just because I didn’t wanna bowhunt or hustle pool as a kid – because I wanted to go to _school_ and live my life – to our whacked-out family, that made me some kind of freak.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters.”

Sam rolled his eyes, then looked up at him defiantly. “Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud. Most dads don’t toss their kids out of the house.”

“I remember that fight,” Dean said, nodding slowly. “In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin’ out of your mouth.” When Sam rocked back defensively, as if stung, Dean cursed his stupidity, asking himself, yet again, why he always felt compelled to both-sides it. Defend Dad against Sam, defend Sam against Dad, always. Was it _that_ hard for them all to just get along? Together? As a family?

“You know,” Sam said, bristling, “truth is, when we finally do find Dad... I don’t know if he’s even gonna wanna see me.”

And Dean felt that one like a stab to the heart. He sighed, pushing away his barely-touched food. “Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“He was afraid of what could’ve happened to you if he wasn’t around,” Dean said simply. That much, at least, was true. But he felt suddenly compelled to tack on another half-truth. Maybe _then_ Sam would see… “Even when you two weren’t talking...” he said cautiously, “he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could. Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe.”

He watched as Sam’s anger faded into stunned disbelief. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Whenever Dean had given their dad updates on Sammy, after _Dean_ had popped by Stanford to check in on him, hidden and unannounced, Dad had at least grunted out an acknowledgement, and not simply walked away. And who knows? Maybe Dad really had popped by Stanford. If he had, though, Dean knows there’s no way he would’ve told Dean about it.

“Really?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Dean acknowledged with a shrug.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of that?” Sam asked, face softening into something like wonder.

“Well, it’s a two-way street, dude,” Dean said flatly. “You could’ve picked up the phone.” And yeah, okay, maybe he still had some lingering resentment there.

Sam just stared at him sadly, and Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly tired.

“Dean, I’m sorry, I–”

“Whatever,” Dean said, interrupting before Sam could half-ass some forced apology just because he thought Dean needed to hear it. As if. “I mean, water under the bridge, right? You’re here now. For now,” he added, lips quirking up bitterly. Just a matter of time.

“Seriously, Dean. I… I _wanted_ to. You have no _idea_.”

Dean shook his head. “I said forget it, Sammy, okay? Doesn’t matter now.”

He needed to change the subject. Get them out of this maudlin reminiscing into… uh, what about their lives was _not_ maudlin?

“Hey,” he said, suddenly remembering, “this house remind you of anything? Remember that time, you musta been about ten… you ran off to some friend’s house for like a week ’cause you were obsessed with the fact they had a real stove and not just a microwave?”

Sam rolled his eyes at the abrupt change of subject, but joined in after a moment, laughing quietly. “We’d been living in that shitty studio apartment for like six months, remember? Dad was barely around… I think the kid – christ, what was his name? – I think his mom was about ready to call child services on us,” he laughed. “Dunno how we got out of that one.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, they were spread out on sleeping bags in the living room together, mostly empty beer bottles scattered haphazardly around them, chortling about all the very worst places they’d ever stayed in.

“Georgia, remember?” Sam asked, wiping away tears of laughter. “Or was it Louisiana? The one with the spider infestation.”

“That one wasn’t so bad,” Dean offered.

“Dean.” Sam rolled on his side to face him, propping up his head on one elbow. “I woke up in the middle of the night with hundreds of spiders crawling all over me!” he protested.

Dean laughed at the memory. Sam, eight or nine, running into his bedroom shrieking bloody murder. “Better than _some_ things that could be crawling all over you in the middle of the night,” he chuckled. “Not as nice as others, I suppose.”

Sam’s resultant eyeroll was so blatant he could practically _hear_ it.

“Arizona,” Dean offered. “That was definitely the worst. You were like thirteen…? We were staying at that skeevy motel for like a month, remember? Motel owner was pervin’ on you the whole time. Fucking creepy.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “Though I guess that’s not really funny-bad, is it.” He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Wish I coulda saved you from all that. Wish I could’ve… given you some kinda ‘normal’.”

“Dean, you were just a kid,” Sam said, sounding equal parts sad and exasperated, but Dean couldn’t bear to look at him right then.

“Didn’t make it not my responsibility. Doesn’t make it not my fault.”

Dean rolled on his side to take another swig of beer, then collapsed back onto his back. He tilted his head to look at Sam, less than an arm’s length away. “Hey, you, uh…” he shook his head, not wanting to ask, trying to force the words out anyway. “You think if, uh, if we’d grown up in a place like this… you still woulda left? The way you did?”

“Hard to say for sure, isn’t it,” Sam said, sighing heavily. “I mean, it’s not like I left _because_ of those things. Or because of the hunting or because of dad…”

“No?”

“I mean, yeah, it was all of those things too, but… mostly I… I just needed… to figure out who I _was_ , you know? Away from you and dad and… and all the rest.” He edged closer, and Dean could feel the heat of him radiating alongside his arm.

“And now?” Dean asked quietly, meeting his eyes.

“I know who I am,” Sam said simply. “Dean. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t know how many times I gotta tell you.”

And then Sam leaned in, kissing him softly on the lips.

Dean pulled his head back, or tried, awkward against the floor. “Sammy, what–”

“Dean, it’s just… just a time-out, remember?” Sam said, murmuring against his lips, his eyes just this side of desperate. “Just… an intermission. For here. While we can. Don’t you want a taste of normal?” And then he leaned in again, lips soft and insistent, and this time, Dean let him.

And Dean wanted to argue. He _wanted_ to. Because Sam had it right the first time – this was in no way normal. But Sam’s lips were on his and, fuck, who the fuck did he think he was kidding. With a broken moan, he cracked, opening to Sam and pulling him in hard with a hand behind his head, pushing his tongue deep into his mouth. _Just an intermission._

He rolled Sam onto his back, slotting a leg in between Sam’s long ones, angling his head to kiss down into him properly and pushing Sam’s stupid floppy hair out of his face. _Christ_ , the feel of his mouth, wet, hot, and insistent – _demanding_ – the very _taste_ of him… and Dean refused to let himself think about how long he had maybe waited–, how long he had _wanted…_ No. Shut it down. This was about tonight. Only tonight.

He broke away from Sam’s mouth to kiss along his jaw, Sam moaning his name breathlessly, hot hands sneaking under his shirt to slide up his back. He let Sam push his shirt up and off, then helped Sam with his own.

“Sammy, Sammy,” he murmured into Sam’s neck. “Sweetheart…”

Sam made a sound that was half-protest, half-heat, shooting Dean a look of warning. “Dean…”

“Not teasin’ you, Sammy,” Dean said softly, meeting his eyes. “Maybe I just like calling you sweetheart,” he breathed, and watched Sam’s eyes flutter closed.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured encouragingly, scattering kisses along Sam’s collarbone, down his chest. “Just gotta let me… lemme take care of you.”

And Sam was fucking _whimpering_ above him, the breathy little noises driving Dean wild as he whispered a steady stream of adulation into Sam’s skin, Sam’s hands scrambling for purchase anywhere they could reach – his back, shoulders, clutching his hair as Dean made his way down to the waistband of Sam’s jeans.

Sam’s noises escalated into a high-pitched keening as Dean mouthed along the seam, edging a finger inside to swipe along smooth skin.

“This what you want, Sammy?” Dean asked, thumbing open the top button. When Sam garbled out a broken moan that could only mean _yes_ , Dean chuckled into his skin, tugging down the zipper of his fly. “S’alright, sweetheart, gonna take good care of you.”

And then Dean tugged down Sam’s jeans, taking his underwear along with them, Sam lifting his hips to help. Dean tugged the jeans off fully in an awkward tangle of long limbs, then skated a hand up Sam’s leg, kneading deep into strong muscled thigh.

And _fuck_ , but Sam was fucking huge. Dean knew this abstractly, but it was another thing entirely to see it up close – easily the length of his face, if not more, and so fucking _thick_ – and Dean’s mouth watered at the sight. And it wasn’t as though he’d ever done this before, even contemplated this before, but this was the first time he’d actually _wanted_... He leaned in to nuzzle his cheek along the length, just wanting to inhale the musky smell of Sam.

And then he licked experimentally up the whole length of him with the flat of his tongue, and Sam and Dean moaned in unison, Sam’s cock twitching upwards into Dean’s mouth.

And Dean moaned again at just the _sound_ of Sam, taking him into his mouth now and suckling the head, the taste of him intoxicating. And, fuck, you could not have conviced Dean a year ago that this was where he’d be today, drooling over his little brother’s cock, fucking _moaning_ around it, but Dean couldn’t get enough – bobbing his head, sloppy and wet, his hand jerking the base where his mouth couldn’t reach – wanting to suck Sam down whole, wanting to swallow every sound – Sam moaning out a broken litany of _DeanDeanDeanfuckDean_ above him – and Dean couldn’t fucking take it anymore, and shoved his other hand down his own pants to jerk himself roughly, moaning brokenly around Sam’s cock as he spilled into his hand and Sam exploded into his throat.

He resurfaced slowly, Sam’s hands petting his hair, his mouth still around Sam’s softening cock, and pulled off with tight suction, suckling him clean, drawing another slow, full-body shudder out of Sam. Then he collapsed, forehead pressing into the crease of Sam’s thigh, just trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam said breathlessly above him, “you… I wanted… all that, and I fucking _missed it_?”

Dean chuckled softly. “I assure you, Sammy, you were there.” He pulled his hand out of his pants and swiped the mess over Sam’s chest, smirking at Sam’s sound of protest.

“Besides,” he continued, voice rough, “you need to get yourself cleaned up, and rumor has it there’s a pretty sweet steam shower in this house.” He met Sam’s eyes, seeing pure heat reflected back at him, and licked his lips.

* * *

Later, after round three, after they’d taken full advantage of that steam shower upstairs – and the image of Sam, on his knees in front of him, wet hair plastered to his face, pink lips stretched tight over his cock, was going to be embedded in Dean’s brain _forever_ – after that, when they’d made their way back downstairs again, still dripping wet, and Dean had fucked into Sam for what seemed like _hours_ , bodies rocking together seamlessly, endless litany of endearments murmured into Sam’s mouth, after that, when they’d collapsed together, boneless and sated, Dean had felt… he’d felt… _safe_ , maybe. Warm and happy and _safe_ , for the first time since Sam had come back, maybe the first time in… fuck, _ever_.

And as he looked over at Sam now, breathing softly in sleep, stupid hair drying into all kinds of bizarre, twisted shapes and flopping again into his face – which Dean was _totally_ going to tease him about tomorrow – he looked at Sam and wondered when the hell did he lose control of this thing? When did this spill over into not just _playing?_

Because this little _intermission_ was awesome and all, except for the fact that it was never going to happen again. Never _could_ happen again. Dean had never hated the words ‘while we can’ more in his entire life. The good-humored hysteria of earlier was bleeding away fast; he wasn’t really finding this ‘single moment of madness’ stuff funny anymore.

A small, fragile voice in the very back of his head pleaded _please let it happen again_ and Dean tamped down on that quickly, before it could grow into anything resembling hope. Because, pretend all they want, they would never be ‘normal’. Maybe Sam could still have that, but Dean knew it wasn’t in the cards for him. But it didn’t matter. Whether this thing was just for one night or ten thousand, Dean would always choose family, would choose _Sam_ , over ‘normal’ every single time.


	2. Sam's mini-remix edition

The first time it happens, they’re playing house. Sam would like to laugh at that fact, he really would. But the truth of it… the truth is that, underneath Dean’s teasing pet names, underneath his joking about steam showers and barbeques, underneath his mockery of manicured lawns and normalcy, Sam senses gut-deep longing that Dean probably thinks he’s disguising better than he is. He’s not sure Dean is even _aware_.

And so he’d like to laugh. But the truth is, this little time-out of theirs, this suburban interlude in the middle of monsters and madness and missing fathers isn’t actually very funny. Not very funny at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [First-Time Wincest Fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/First_Time_Wincest_Fest), which had the amazing, brilliant idea of turning every single episode into a first time.
> 
> Gotta say, after writing this thing out, I'm convinced that _Bugs'_ place in fandom canon needs to be re-evaluated. Seriously under-rated! And sets up tons of character stuff that's still being dealt with years down the line. (Although, yes, the ending is still ridiculous.)


End file.
